Lord of Darkness
by FujimoriChikaru
Summary: The back of Antonio's head slammed into the granite. There were overlaping voices and blurs of color, but all he cared for was the already familiar screeching. His chest had never before ached to such an extent.


((I hate going back to edit... D: But here is a legible author's note...))

So! Just a few things about the setting you should know: this takes place in Italy, 1860s-1870s-ish. I did my best to keep the characters IC... This is a bit of a song fic (you'll see what I mean); the lyrics belong to the amazing Razzyness (I only changed a word or two to fit Spain's physical description). Also, this fic is a monster... seriously, it's huge so I hope you don't get bored :I I think that's it, so please enjoy...?

**EDIT: **I **do not own** Hetalia: Axis Powers

* * *

><p><strong>Lord of Darkness<strong>

It was becoming increasingly frequent for the typical chatter that surrounded Rome when the sun was high in the sky to, despite the myriad of people clustered together, cease without warning for perhaps a second or two, the abrupt silence almost painful. Then, as if an unspoken signal were delivered, the crowd would part; every person, be it man, woman or child, would push themselves against one another, curling slightly into themselves in an attempt to become smaller. They all would ignore their petty discomfort in hopes of pleasing the two figures approaching, clad, as always, in dresses with ruffles and laces of only the finest quality, bonnets shielding the upper halves of their faces, the long sleeves of their dresses present as ever, even in the smothering heat. When the two would reach where the parted crowd began, they would be respectfully greeted as they had since birth with a nearly automatic and surprisingly synchronized acknowledgement.

_ "__Principesse!"_

* * *

><p>An almost terrifyingly pale hand frantically sought out another, only to be seized in a murderous grip. Innocently curved brows twitched, but a wide smile, bright enough to be compared to the sun, was awarded as eyes closed, hiding eyes a shade of russet equal to their hair.<p>

"Ve~! You need not part for us! Please, continue on with your business and pay us no mind!"

There was a murmur of gratitude and agreement as the Italian commoners slowly, hesitantly, stepped farther into the streets, though there was still a hint of a path for the two who were dressed finely. The two said nothing but took the path gratefully, one smiling at every person they passed by, the other keeping their mouth in a thin, neutral line, acknowledging others only by a small nod of the head.

"We're men, dammit." The latter grumbled irritably.

The former quickly glanced around, ensuring they had bypassed the crowd before turning to face the male in the dark green gown. "Ve~. I hoped you would have become used to this by now, Lovi."

"Lovi_no!"_

The boy in the extravagant garnet dress gave an unseen frown (a small furrow of the brows, really, for he could never _truly _frown), confused by the reply. "Yes, I know your name, Lovi."

Lovino huffed an impatient sigh and began pulling his younger brother further into the city, though his hold was noticeably less painful than before.

"Let us _go,_ Feli! The sooner we purchase your useless tomatoes, the sooner we return home before the perverted pricks arrive!"

"Ve!" The younger of the two brothers perked up, and, with an unexpected surge of power, successfully managed to drag his older brother to the market stand that would sell the most fresh, plentiful tomatoes in all of Italy. Lovino let loose a (very manly, mind you!) screech from surprise as his heels automatically dug themselves into the dirt.

"_FELICIANOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"_

* * *

><p>As frighteningly familiar arms wrapped around his torso from behind, Lovino made no effort to disguise his shudder of disgust. The distinct and overbearing aroma of roses alone revealed the identity of his harasser and potential rapist.<p>

With a well-aimed elbow to the stomach, Lovino managed to frantically scurry away from the physical being that was perhaps his greatest fear.

"Oh, _mon amour, _how you wound me so!"

Lovino retreated yet another step, somewhat disturbed by the barely audible hint of pain in his victim's voice; he knew the pain inflicted would not be as great as it had been the time before, as the other man's stomach was not pressed up against his own back, but he had been hoping the pervert would have at least had difficulty speaking!

Fortunately(or perhaps not, but Lovino sure as hell was hoping luck would be on his fucking side for once!), a chilling cackle rang throughout the ballroom Lovino had been hiding in, assuming the very bastards he was alone with would not take the trouble to hunt him down.

Wait.

He was _alone_ with the bastards…

_Shit!_

"_Kesesese! _Has the little fucker attacked you yet again, Francis?"

Francis straightened up from his slightly hunched position with a huff and turned around to face his dearest friend and, currently, greatest rival.

"_Oui. _Though, I am relieved I had been leaning into the embrace, or the attack may have been the death of me!" Gilbert snickered as his friend overdramatically rubbed a spot on the right side of his stomach (where a new bruise would soon appear, no doubt) and wiped away fake tears with his free hand. With a start and a blink at the lack of excessive shrieking and use of colorful vocabulary, Gilbert suddenly looked around the ballroom.

"Where… exactly is the little shit?"

Francis' head immediately snapped up and he spun, craning his neck as if to survey every visible detail of the surface, even from meters away, only to find that, sure enough, Lovino had disappeared when the older two where thoroughly distracted in their conversation.

"Hmmm…" Francis absentmindedly twirled his finger around a lock of golden hair. "I suppose… we will have no choice but to find him ourselves." He said calmly, indifferently, but there was a challenging gleam in his eyes.

Gilbert did not reply, but cackled once more, following Francis across the ballroom toward the exit they concluded Lovino had escaped from.

When footsteps could no longer be heard from the ballroom, a door from within opened slowly, Lovino cautiously toeing his way from where he hid.

"Che," He muttered, "One would think those two fucktards would have noticed the closet door that was a mere _ten steps away_ from where I last stood… though it is a relief they had not…"

"Lovino,"'

"Gah!" Lovino's head whipped around to where the foreigners had left, only to see the person he least expected. He quickly glanced around, to make certain they were alone, before heaving a sigh of relief. "Ludwig."

Ludwig nodded. "Feliciano is with your grandfather."

Lovino's eyes, previously trained on the exit across him, met with Ludwig's as the last of his anxiety left him. He once more entered the closet and returned with two large seating cushions. He set them both down and carefully lowered himself upon one, smoothing the wrinkles forming on his attire while he nodded at the other cushion, which Ludwig sat on.

Ludwig was, surprisingly enough, one of few people to regularly visit the House of Savoy whom did not infuriate Lovino with their presence alone. Their acquaintance was somewhat awkward, true, but remained a secret nonetheless; if Gilbert and Francis were to know of their rocky companionship(for there was naught one of the two knew that the other did not), neither Ludwig nor Lovino would hear the end of the complaints from the older two, not to mention the scandalous rumors sure to follow. It was a mutual benefit, really, for Lovino to scream at Ludwig when there was a third party present; they were spared constant pestering and Lovino was permitted an outlet to let his frustrations on.

"It has been three months…"

"The fucking rumors have yet to stop!"

Lovino waited to receive a nod from the blonde German before continuing. Their relationship was, for the most part, based on enjoying a comfortable silence, but Ludwig did not seem to mind Lovino's ranting, and Lord _knew_ Lovino needed someone to listen to him once in a while! "Your damn bastard of a brother really took his charade too far! Three goddamn months and the rumors are becoming even worse! Now, even _nonno_ is convinced Gilbert wishes to marry me! The fuck am I to do! And you _know_ how Feli is faring; he claims to be happy for me, but we _both_ know how he _truly_ _feels_." Ludwig flushed slightly under Lovino's pointed look, yet kept the eye contact established. The corners of Lovino's mouth twitched upward at the sight and at Ludwig's persistence to avoid the topic of the romantic feelings he held for Feliciano and the possibility of reciprocation. Ludwig cleared his throat.

"I wish I could be of assistance to you. However, when I last spoke to my brother of his actions toward you, it only seemed to encourage him. I may have been the indirect cause to the troubles you are now experiencing, and for that, I sincerely apologize."

Lovino waved the apology away. "Nearly a year ago and you continue to bring this up. What has been done has been done, and you cannot change the past. It is he in the wrong, not you- GODDAMN ASSHOLE!"

Ludwig, who had been about to nod at Lovino's words, was suddenly blinded by the seating cushion Lovino had been sitting on, the force somehow capable of knocking the German back, the backside of his head hitting the floor roughly. He vaguely registered Lovino yelling to Feliciano across the room.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaah! Lovi, what have you done?"

"Why do you insist on blaming me? It is the _German's_ fault, why am I the first to be suspected? He is nearly as bad as his _brother!"_

"Ludwig has done nothing wrong, ve!"

"How the fuck would you know? He may as well be using us as a game, just as the other fuckers insist on doing!"

"Ludwig is a good person!"

"Bullshit!"

Ludwig closed his eyes and sighed. It seemed that, with Feliciano now in the room, he would no longer have time to talk with Lovino. Ludwig and Lovino were only truly capable of making conversation the day of Ludwig's arrival, for Feliciano took to clinging onto the arm of the former throughout the visit. Ludwig did not mind, really, he did not, but he was aware there were few whom Lovino did not shun with his short temper, and wished he could aid the Italian with his dilemmas.

"Feliciano,"

The aforementioned whipped his head and nearly flew to Ludwig's side, helping the blonde stand. "Ve! Are you okay, Ludwig? Does your head hurt? I apologize on behalf of _fratello's_ unreasonable actions-"

"Unreasonable my ass!"

"About _fratello,_ well, you see, I try to speak to him but he continues to hit you and yell at you and hit and yell at you even more and I cannot stop him no matter how I try and I have tried but he is my brother what can I do, oh, please do not hate me!"

Ludwig placed his head atop Feliciano's head and pat him gently; he was not quite sure how to console the other, whose eyes had begun to water by the end of his brief monologue. Ludwig ignored Lovino's obvious hard staring, and was positive the older of the Italian brothers was having difficulty keeping his typical scowl from becoming a knowing smirk.

"I do not hate you. There is no need to apologize; what has been done has been done and you cannot change the past. It is your brother's fault for the actions he takes, not your own."

Feliciano's tears disappeared instantly, his eyes boring into Ludwig's, somewhat surprised by the response. "You… you truly think that…?"

Ludwig nodded. "There is no need to put blame upon yourself for what another has done."

"Ve!" Feliciano jumped and wrapped his arms around Ludwig's neck happily, allowing his legs and long skirt to dangle above the tiled surface. "Oh, how I am grateful for your understanding, Ludwig!"

As Feliciano continued rambling of his gratitude, Ludwig turned his head slightly and caught Lovino's eye. With Feliciano's head pressed into Ludwig's shoulder, Lovino nodded slightly; the German seemed to have understood the point Lovino was making before Feliciano had interrupted them. Lovino then scowled and huffed loudly to get his brother's attention.

"I _suppose_ you made a somewhat reasonable point, and I doubt you two will listen to me any time soon. _However,_" Lovino gave Feliciano a warning look, "do _not_ wait until nightfall to return home."

"Ve! Thank you, thank you so much, Lovi~! _Grazie!_"

Lovino stepped aside from his brother's approaching hug and huffed once more for good measure. "Che." He then proceeded to muster what little dignity he was left with and held the front of his gown with both hands to stomp out of the ballroom so he would not trip upon the hem. He hid a smile as he turned a corner.

He truly could not ask for a better future suitor for Feliciano.

* * *

><p>Lovino walked towards the only empty seat, between his grandfather and brother, at the ridiculously large table with the regal, straight-backed stance expected of him, and nodded to the servant who held the chair out for him, no longer embarrassed to smooth out the back of his dress before sitting so it would not ride up, and muttered a polite "<em>Grazie<em>" with a small smile on his lips as the servant then pushed the chair in to save him the trouble of doing so himself. He ignored the appalled looks on both Francis' and Gilbert's faces (Folkert looked as apathetic as ever, the creepy fuck…), as did Feliciano, Ludwig and the other nobles present. Romulus, however, found the cause of the bewilderment of the potential suitors for his eldest grandson (or so he thought) a curiosity to be sated.

"Why so astounded, you two? Surely you did not think Lovino to be so arrogant as to never acknowledge one of a lower class than he?" The tone was playful, and slightly disbelieving, but the shaky laugh that escaped Romulus' lips exposed his fear of the truth that may be lying in his words.

"Oh, _non, non, Monsieur!" _Francis replied when he had gotten a hold of himself. "I was just so… _enraptured_… when I saw your grandson's beautiful-angelic!-smile." The French nobleman slyly looked Lovino over, inwardly disappointed when the Italian did not catch his eye like he had intended.

Romulus smiled and nodded, accepting the explanation and purposely not reading into how Francis had paused throughout his claim, as if considering, weighing the words before they were spoken. Lovino was loved, Romulus knew, and needed only to decide on who he wished to marry.

"So, _Lovino,_" Gilbert began, voice husky and a bit deeper than usual as he said the name of the eldest Italian prince, who clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on his fork. "Where did you run off to, earlier, after I had finally found you? I have missed you so, when I caught but a mere glance at you, a sudden happiness had overcome me, only to disappear when you were no longer there."

Lovino looked up, not missing how both Francis and Gilbert glanced discretely (or so _they_ thought) at Feliciano, who ate while making the least amount of noise possible, careful to not let his fork clink against the plate, as he always would during these conversations, where Lovino was questioned incessantly, but not wanted, could _never_ be wanted, when Feliciano was so much nicer, so much happier, so much cuter, so much _better. _Lovino bit the inside of his cheek, and replied, with a flat, uninterested tone, "I was assisting the servants with preparing the guest chambers."

When Lovino happened to glimpse upwards once more, he immediately noted the twitching lips of the older two whom had been cornering him into a conversation, as well as their scarlet cheeks and trembling shoulders. They were amused, thought hewas _entertaining_. Lovino was certain that, had he confessed this at any time when they were in private the older two would have made improper jokes, the disgusting fiends.

Lovino nearly jumped when Feliciano let out an unexpectedly loud "Ve!" before continuing with, "Why did you not return, then, when you saw Lovi was not with Ludwig and I in the streets of Rome?" he asked innocently, his left hand reaching over to hold Lovino's right, which had, at that point, joined the other under the table to clutch at his skirts, hard enough so, when he would inevitably let go, there would be a clump of wrinkles, when he was always trying so hard to never ruin a single gown. All the dresses Lovino owned once belonged to his mother and her family, and it would be such a _waste_ to ruin something so old and beautiful, from a woman he loved yet never quite remembered. For the second time that day, Lovino held Feliciano's hand tightly, thankful his brother had spoken up, at least once, and was comforting him now, as he was always somehow capable of doing, which made Lovino feel slightly ashamed.

Feliciano was the younger brother, so why was _he_ always comforting, consoling, Lovino, and not the other way around?

"I thought he would have assumed we would look for you first, and therefore purposely chose to wander farther into the city." Gilbert hastily cut in.

Feliciano tilted his head, but Lovino could feel his brother's nails pressing into the soft flesh of his hand, and Ludwig could see how fake the smile of the younger was. "Why would Lovi assume you would look for me, when it was he whom you wished to find?"

"It seemed like common sense, to me, that he would have gone to find you rather than wandering around alone. That is why Gilbert and I rushed off- to find him."

"'Rushed off' you say, yet you were with us for the better part of an hour before you 'rushed off' Francis, ve. I wonder why that is?" Before Gilbert or Francis could answer, Feliciano gave them both an intimidating glare, a wondrous feat for one as softhearted as him, and took a vicious bite of his Supplì, disregarding the frightened and awed looks the others were shooting him. Feliciano squeezed Lovino's hand once more before releasing it, and Lovino was forced to hide his smile with a large bite of his own appetizer.

* * *

><p>"Romulus."<p>

"Ah, Folkert! So _this _is where you were!"

"Romulus, what occupied your mind throughout dinner? Do not think I did not notice."

With a weary sigh, Romulus followed his friend and seated himself on the couch next to him. It was far past midnight; there was no sound save for the fire crackling a few meters away.

Folkert waited patiently, and though he did not receive an answer, he smiled understandingly. "Lovino tires out one's patience without trying. He only needs a person who is capable of tolerating him, short temper and all."

"Have you not seen him in one of his _mild_ moods! I would not wish such a fate on a single soul, I know what the extent of suffering that would require!"

"Well, if loving Nerezza was not impossible," Folkert pat his friend's back and stood, turning to walk out. "then neither is loving Lovino."

Romulus blinked, taking in the meaning of his friend's words, before his lips spread in a smile bright enough to be compared to that of his youngest grandson.

* * *

><p><strong>Well once upon a time, I think is how it goes,<strong>

How strange it was, to think that it had only been six years since he had begun living in Rome. The language, though not very different from his own, was not nearly as easy as he had thought to become accustomed to. Still, it was fortunate that, if there was a phrase he was not quite sure how to say or ask in Italian, he would, for the most part, be understood if he spoke in his mother language.

King Amadeo I did not seem like a bad man, but it was not a good time to reign. His own mother was so superstitious, always certain horrible occurrences to be a warning for even worse times to come, and, he supposed, those beliefs carried on to him. It was not wrong in this circumstance, or so he thought, after all that had happened on poor Amadeo's wedding day some three years before his rule: The best man shooting himself, the bride's wardrobe mistress hanging herself, the colonel leading the procession collapsing from sunstroke, the stationmaster being crushed under the wheels of the honeymoon train… yes, he supposed he was lucky to have moved even before Amadeo took the throne…

But, ah! That was not why he had truly moved to Italy! He had seen the signs, how restless the people were becoming, had known there would be uprisings and rebellions even before they had happened. He had been considering moving to Italy, and did so late October, perhaps a month after Emanuele had seized Rome under the French's noses, and, when he moved there, watched when, some eight months later, it became a capitol.

**In a country glorified and rid of all its woe**

Though he truly did miss his home country, he did not regret immigrating into Italy. Rome was so beautiful at night, so much so he would make a point to walk out every evening when he was certain the sun had set completely. He enjoyed the constant presence of a cold breeze during summer, listening to other peoples' conversations, watching how they, too, spoke with their hands, how they interacted in general, really. Ah, to live in city such as Rome was as if entering Heaven itself…

True, Rome was peaceful, had been before he had begun living there, but had it always been so, he wondered. What had it been like, living in Italy while they fought for independence? Though he did not think he would have liked to be involved at that time, he was still curious as to how it may have changed, if at all, over the years. He would have asked his friends, but, they had never _lived_ in Italy; they both only visited Rome, no longer than two weeks at a time, and therefore did not really _see_ how it was, how the people were, how they all spoke to one another. He would not deny, however, how strange Italy's relationships with the home countries of his friends, nor the amusement he found when his friends would talk of their "competition", their "game" when, in all honesty, they took their acts too far; but there was no stopping them, even he knew, so he would not try to. It was much more fun to watch them playfully argue, in any case.

**There the Lord of Darkness spent his life without a care**

His knees on the couch, leaning over the back of it to look out the window, he watched the sun rise, though he carefully remained in the shadows. Strange, how he had never loved the sunrise in his home country nearly as much; the sunset, too, was more favorable in Rome. When the sun continued its ascent, and when he had no choice but to cover the window with his shade, he did so before stripping and laying down in his simple coffin. His friends were not due for another eight or so hours, and he would rather use that time sleeping than waiting restlessly.

It seemed as if he had just shut his eyes when his shoulder was shook gently, the accented "Antoine" nearly drowned out by the "Wake up, 'Toni!" as his eyelids pried themselves open. Before him, he saw Francis, hair tied back by a ribbon and seated next to him on the couch, Gilbert leaning against the wall across him. Francis and Gilbert smiled at him upon seeing him awake.

"Nice to see you once again, _mon ami._"

"I would hope you enjoyed your sleep; you will not be receiving any with Francis and I here, Antonio."

**He who was a vampire with short stunning brown hair**

* * *

><p>The sun had long since set, and, though Antonio very much enjoyed simply talking with his friends and catching up on what they had done since three months prior, when his friends had last visited Rome, he did miss their evening outings. It was a time to do naught but flirt with women, sought only for their allure, the curve of their figure, the size of their breasts.<p>

Antonio had a preference that came across as peculiar to his friends.

**Searching for the most beautiful neck that he could bite**

He would not call himself finicky in any other circumstance. Well, it was not so much him being particular, but rather, he did not want the lowest quality of what Italy had to offer. Necks may be incapable of revealing how sweet or bitter, delicious or repulsive the river of red flowing through the intricate blue or green webs may be, but Antonio would like to continue believing he would be satisfied with a neck smooth as velvet, pale as marble and befitting of a slender beauty.

The women with whom Antonio had had affairs with never seemed to mind his biting, once the initial pain would become pleasure, of course. On the contrary, if their increase in volume was to be any indication, the intrusion of painfully and abnormally pointed teeth only served to heighten the sensations, a fact Antonio rather enjoyed boasting when in the presence of Francis.

**So let us… dance away to this moonless night**

How nice it was, to simply listen to the beautiful violins play in the plaza as the Italian commoners danced without a care. Gilbert, Antonio knew, loathed dancing, did so only when required at a ball, and could not dance anything faster nor more complicated than a waltz. Francis, on the other hand, loved to dance, or rather, engage in any act guaranteed to charm women.

Antonio simply _adored_ dancing. He loved how his body would move on its own with a simple prompt from the music. His eyes would close, the vibration of the bow against the strings would echo in his mind, and he would feel as if he were a puppet, controlled by no more than mere sound. He would stop for no other reason than the halt of the music, even if he felt innumerable pairs of eyes trained upon him.

It was not until the last note of the fifth song that had played since the arrival of Francis, Antonio and Gilbert did the music cease. Antonio finally stopped in place, his breath coming to him in harsh pants. He wiped the sweat on his forehead away before locating his friends, and stumbled over to them.

"Hahaha! 'Toni! Join us for some wine!"

"_Oui._ This Merlot is _magnifique."_

"I see you have not become any less French, Francis. _Merlot._" Gilbert scoffed. "Drink your _Merlot,_ as you always have and will. _I _will be enjoying this Egri Bikavér. It may not compare to the taste of _true_ Egri Bikavér made in Hungary, but it is, at the very least, decent."

"Egri Bikavér?" Antonio repeated breathlessly.

"Bull's Blood! Have you not heard of it, 'Toni?"

"No-"

"Ah, So that is what you are drinking! Is Merlot not a compliment to the other berries used in Bull's Blood? And is that wine not known for its sweet taste?"

"Oh, Francis, how you amuse me so when you speak nonsense!" Gilbert proclaimed loudly as he hurriedly finished what remained in his goblet before pouring himself more.

"Where did you two find those bottles?"

"There is a wine shop across from us, Antoine!"

Antonio looked up and found that, sure enough, wine bottles were displayed from behind the large windows. "Ohhhhhh~!"

"Really, how did you not notice?"

"Ahaha~ I apologize, Francis- I was lost in thought and did not take note of where I was."

Francis shook his head and offered his wine bottle wordlessly.

"Ah, no, it is fine, Francis! I would prefer to buy my own, if you do not mind."

"Oh? You believe you can distinguish good wine from bad?"

"Ahaha… I did not say that, _pero_… _este…. _Francis?"

"Yes, Antoine?"

"Will you and-" Antonio's eyes flickered to Gilbert, who was making conversation with a small yellow bird that happened to be perched upon his head. "Will you assist me in purchasing good Italian wine…?

"But of course, _mon ami!_ Now, what kind of wine do you prefer?"

Antonio blinked. "Good wine…?"

Francis' eyes widened. "Have you yet to so much as to _taste_ wine!"

"I have had Merlot…"

"EVERYONE has had MERLOT!"

Francis and Antonio spared their raging companion a glance and returned to their conversation.

"Why, you have been living here for six years now, and you were born in Spain! How, then, are you not an expert such as myself in such matters?"

"My family has always made a point to avoid any form of alcohol, save for events such as reunions and weddings."

"_Mon Dieu,_ why!"

Antonio opened his mouth to answer before closing it. He opened it once more and furrowed his brows. "I… cannot remember."

Francis sighed, and set his goblet down upon the flat surface of the fountain he had been seated on. "Come, Antoine," he said, pulling his gullible friend by the wrist, into the store. "Just to narrow our options, do you at least know if you would prefer _bianco _or_ rosso?"_

Antonio smiled good naturedly at the blonde. "Must you ask?"

**His sharp fangs they hunger for the taste of something red**

Antonio tipped his head back, swallowing as much wine from the goblet as he was physically able. With a contented sigh, he licked the remains from his lips and reached for the bottle of _Nero d'Avole _Francis had chosen for him. Ah, Francis, that saint of a man! He truly had no idea just how appreciative Antonio was of him, the wine was _so _heavenly. Antonio began to ponder just how he would repay his friend. Well… there was a woman not too far away Antonio recognized and knew was not easy to please, and Antonio _knew _Francis reveled in challenges… perhaps-

"Ah, Antoine," Francis quickly stole the bottle from Antonio's grasp before the brunet could pour himself yet another serving from his _third _ bottle of wine. "I think you have had enough for the night, _mon ami_. I would not like to tolerate another drunk Gilbert."

_Ay, Dios, _how Antonio hated Francis, _loathed _him even! Antonio had the pleasure of meeting Elizabeta a few times, had heard how she talked of her distaste for Francis' treatment of Roderich, her fiancée… with the Italian princesses' birthday approaching, she would no doubt be present… if he managed to get Francis drunk and convince him Elizabeta was yet another Italian woman… perhaps…

"I am Prussian! I am incapababa… incapad… incob… I cannot get drunk!"

Antonio's mind wandered from planning revenge on Francis to his incoherent friend. "Just… how much has he had to drink…?

"I recall he had perhaps three bottles of _Corvina_ and a bottle or two of that Egri Bikavér he seems to be so fond of…" Francis and Antonio shared a knowing look. "but I lost count immediately after…"

Ah, Gilbert was as predictable as ever, shouting nonsense to any who would stop to listen to him. The bird still perched atop the unruly silver strands chirped, seemingly agreeing with the drunk. Francis began to audibly reminisce on how he had made this "Lovino" jealous by noticeably paying more attention to this "Feliciano", and was promptly distracted, oblivious to Antonio's hand slowly inching its way to the otherwise forgotten bottle. Francis, who happened to just glance at the approaching hand, quickly raised his free hand to point at a woman barely visible from where they sat. "Ah, Antoine, is that not Bella?"

"Bella!" Antonio turned his head sharply, nearly squealing in delight when he spotted the aforementioned blonde woman, happily talking with her brother.

"_Ay,_" Antonio began, instantly disheartened. "Her brother is there, so I cannot talk with her…"

"She cannot talk to her brother all night; he will leave eventually and you can greet her then." Francis carefully and noiselessly lowered the wine bottle to the ground, letting out a soft breath when there was no distinct _clink_ of glass and cement. True, he had not _hidden _the alcohol, but Antonio, easily distracted as ever, would most likely not notice.

"Ah, that is right! _Gracias_, Francis!" Antonio replied joyfully, scooting back further on the fountain so he could swing his legs above the ground.

"On a more impa-portant note…" Gilbert began, just the hint of a slur in his voice as he wrapped an arm against his Spanish friend's shoulder. "Have you decided who will be your kill for the night?"

**Who will be the person to fall down and wind up dead?**

Antonio's brows furrowed slightly, trying to comprehend a hidden meaning in what his friend had said. "My kill…?"

Severely disappointed in his friend's failure to understand him, Gilbert rolled his eyes and sighed in a far too dramatic manner. "Your 'kill', 'Toni, is the woman whose blood you will drink tonight." Gilbert whispered, which led Francis and Antonio to believe that, perhaps, Gilbert was not inebriated after all, for him to remember that Antonio's true nature could not, under any circumstances, be revealed.

"Ohhhhhhhh~!" Antonio exclaimed happily before frowning once more. "Wait, 'kill'? I do not _kill_ them Gilbert, just drink a little of their blood when I get really thirsty…"

"Do not try to call Antoine a murderer; he would not dare to hurt a fly!"

"You two are veering off the subject! 'Toni _must_ be really thirsty, so _we_ need to find an attraki-tative Italian for him to drink blood from!"

Francis waved his hand, as if fanning the excuse away. "Do not try to break tradition, _mon cher _Gilbert! The first night we spend in Italy is at the House of Savoy, the second we spend with Antoine; it is on the third when we scope out dazzling beauties…" Francis' blue eyes darkened slightly, in a manner all-too familiar as he licked his lips thoughtfully.

Gilbert and Antonio shuddered. Francis, dear as he may be to them, was the most disgusting pervert they could ever encounter, and they would really rather prefer to not know just what twisted fantasies the French nobleman would have.

With Francis lost in thought (Antonio shuddered once more, for what could possibly be more frightening?), the Spanish man decided he should drink more of the nearly orgasmic refreshment that was Italian wine. He found the bottle at Francis' feet, and drank straight from the bottle, not bothering to use the goblet next to him still. Though the action was not seen by Francis, who was still in a daze, Gilbert took notice immediately, and began to cheer his friend.

"DRINK THAT WINE, 'TONI! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!"

Francis head snapped up, his nearly-formulated diabolic plans for the next woman he would encounter disappearing instantly as he saw Antonio gulp what had remained of the wine Francis had confiscated, which was well over half the bottle, with far too much enthusiasm. Of course, the chanting Gilbert seemed to have taken upon only served to encourage the Spaniard more, and Francis found himself frightened by the speed Antonio had used to finish off a nearly-full bottle of wine.

Francis, at that moment, silently vowed to never leave Gilbert alone with Antonio for a _second_ lest the former influence the latter even more.

Francis jumped, brought back to reality by Antonio's abrupt and violent coughing fit. Without a thought he began to rub circles into the other's back, hoping to calm him, though it was not long before Gilbert harshly pounded on the Spaniard's back. When Antonio's coughs subsided, he took in air with greedy gasps, his body trembling with each shuddering breath while making less noise, so as to not worry his friends further.

"Antoine?"

"I am all right now, Francis." Antonio croaked. He cleared his throat and licked his dry lips, his eyes roaming over the bodies of available and, no doubt, willing Italian women. They were only few he recognized, for he preferred to have relations with women in the outskirts of the city, where he would most likely not see them again, but this time, as with every time his lust became too strong to ignore, he desired a new, unfamiliar body to tarnish and mark, a new flavor to taste and savor slowly, to tease and torture both himself and the woman who would give herself completely to him. Just the thought of the immoral acts Antonio knew he would soon commit was enough to leave him almost breathless, and he struggled to control himself lest he pounce on the first beautiful woman to catch his eye and take her then and there.

"Antoine?"

Thankful for the provided distraction, Antonio turned to see Francis, face pinched with worry and Gilbert next to him, only the tight jaw and furrowed brows revealing his concern.

"I… remember why my family would not drink alcohol…"

"Oh?" Francis looked confused by the sudden change in topic, but interested nonetheless. Gilbert took a sip from the Merlot he had stolen, but kept eye contact with Antonio to show he was listening.

"I am thirsty…"

**One day he was lacking some iron in his blood**

"Thirsty…?"

"Did I not tell you, Francis! The night is still young, we have more time than we need to find him a decent whore!"

"Did you not drink just yesterday?"

Antonio gave a sheepish smile and shrugged his shoulders. _"Sí_, I did, but alcohol dries our throats and we are nearly overcome with our lust and desperate need for blood. The only complication…" Antonio's eyes flicked to the side, inspecting a woman he would not have thought twice to flirt with at any other time, before scrunching up his nose in disgust. "… is how particular we become."

"Ha! 'Become', as if you were not far too critical before." Gilbert scoffed. "You are nearly as choosy with your women as Francis is with wine!"

Francis turned, a retort ready, as always, before spotting his Merlot in Gilbert's far too unworthy hands. With a war cry, he lunged at his thieving friend, which only proved to start yet another not-quite battle between the two, their uninvolved companion watching silently, an amused smile playing at his lips.

With a slow shake of the head, Antonio resumed to scanning the crowd for a woman deserving of his ever-growing thirst, his sexual appetite yearning to be sated as his nails began to dig into his palms from frustration and impatience.

There were so many beautiful women in the plaza, and it began to annoy Antonio that he did not desire a single one. With a heavy sigh, he decided he would have more luck in moving around rather than remaining in the same spot. He nearly bid his friends farewell, but upon seeing they were still in the midst of their childish antics, he shrugged and turned. His eye happened to catch Bella's as he did so, who seemed surprised to see him there, and she eagerly beckoned for him to approach her.

Antonio smiled, his irritation lessening slightly as he made his way to her. He had not seen her in a few days, after all, and he knew that, in her presence, his mind could not occupy indecent images, for he almost felt that doing so would result in corrupting her in some way. Yes, she was the perfect way to divert his attention from his increasing aggravation.

"_¡Bellita mía!" _Antonio cried elatedly as he embraced her, and she laughed in delight as he did so. With a small chuckle, Bella gently pulled herself away and gestured to a woman in a simple red dress and bonnet that hid the upper half of her face.

Regardless of his inability to see the cloaked features, Antonio's heart was pounding and his face was heating as his curiosity peaked. Just who was this young woman, and why did Antonio already begin to crave her without having so much as seen her face?

"Ah, before I forget my manners, Antonio, I would like to introduce you to my friend," Bella seemed to hesitate before widening her smile significantly. "Romana."

_Romana._ "What a beautiful name," Antonio said politely, nodding at the girl he was introduced to. "It suits you well." It did not, in all honesty; the name seemed… incompatible, somehow, as if it was not befitting of the characters of the Italians born and raised in the north of the country, of whom there seemed to be more in Rome than of those in the south. Antonio had an inkling, no more than a hunch, that _Romana_ would feel more comfortable in, say, Taranto or Bari, perhaps even Naples than she would in Florence or Tuscany.

_Romana_ opened her mouth, but was interrupted by Bella before she could speak. "Ah, Romana, why do you not look for your sister, ah… Venezia! You said you had left her without a word, did you not?" _Romana's _mouth opened once more, and once more she was cut off. "She must be worried for you! Please, do go and find your sister!" Bella began to push the shorter girl (older than fourteen despite her height, Antonio was sure, but not yet eighteen) off in a random direction. "Do give her my greetings, dear!"

_Romana _turned, and though it was impossible to see her expression, Antonio could imagine her raising a delicate, perfect brow (would it be a bloody red, a golden yellow, a black that rivaled the night sky?) or perhaps rolling her eyes (an emerald green? A blue like that of the sky or a brown matching the intoxicating homemade chocolate Bella would generously allow him to sample?) in a sarcastic manner. Nonetheless, she left, still without a word, without giving Antonio the opportunity to hear her voice (which, with every passing second, he was convinced would be just as lovely, if not more, than he imagined it to be). With an almost nervous giggle, Bella faced Antonio and paused before speaking.

"Romana leaves without warning often, and it gives her poor sister quite a fright!"

"Ah, to be young and rebellious once more!" Antonio sighed, a nostalgic tone in his voice. Bella made a disbelieving sound.

"You, Antonio? Rebellious?"

"I was just a child at the time, and would provoke all the boys that lived near me."

Bella shook her head. "I have never thought you capable of lying, yet I find it hard to believe you would once act in such a way."

Antonio shrugged. "I believe I was but a few years younger than your friend." With a curious, an almost meddlesome light in his eyes, he glanced over at her. "I have never heard you speak of her before."

"No?" Bella's furrowed in genuine surprise before realization quickly overcame her features. "Oh! What a shame then, that you-"

"Bella!"

Bella's eyes widened and she nearly fell from the impact of a tackle from a girl in a lime green gown, as simple as _Romana's_ but noticeably less worn and lacking the apron _Romana_ had tied around the waist, and she, too, wore a bonnet that matched her dress. Antonio concluded the girl to be _Romana's _sister; she, at least, seemed to suit her name, though he wondered at the difference in cities their names stemmed from.

"Fe-Venezia! A surprise to see you here!"

"Did… you not send Lo-_Roma_ to find me?"

"Yes, I did, but only so you would not fret over her sudden disappearance, dear! Ah, and before I forget, I would like you to meet Antonio. He is a… _dear friend of mine._"

_"Ciao!_" Venezia curtseyed with grace, and the lack of light did naught to conceal the brightness of her smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Antonio-" Venezia's smile wavered, and she seemed to hesitate before closing her mouth.

"Ah~! How cute you are!"

Had Antonio not been keeping an eye on _Romana_, he would not have seen her jaw clench. Antonio fought to keep his lips in a neutral line, though they protested heavily, and bit at them just hard enough to keep his grin at bay. He had gotten a reaction from _Romana!_ It may have not been painfully obvious, but Antonio was delightfully proud to have made _Romana _react at all.

It seemed complimenting - no, _flirting _with - the younger Italian sister would get just the response he desired.

**So he tried to "woo" the girls by acting like a stud**

"You have such a lovely smile~! Ah, and it is a pleasure to meet you as well!"

_Romana_ turned her head, her smirk unseen by all but Antonio, and he could hear her mutter, in a surprisingly low tone, "Che. Birds of a feather."

"Eh? With all due respect, sir, I do believe you to be wrong; if it is a pretty smile you wish to see, you need only to see that of my dear _fratella_."

_Romana's _head turned so sharply Antonio expected to hear her neck crack. Her lips were twisted into a feral snarl, her teeth baring in an absolutely savage manner, and if that had not been enough to make Antonio positively _melt_ (for Francis was not alone in enjoying a challenge), her rough, boyish voice was more than capable of doing so. "Goddammit, just how many times must I tell you to stop saying such things! I do not enjoy you 'complimenting' me, it is downright irritating! Shit!"

"Roma, you should not speak so foully in company…"

"Shut the hell up! Are you really so incapable of going a day without pestering me!

Bella glanced at Antonio from the corner of her eye, beaming as she caught his captivated expression directed toward her childhood friend. Feeling satisfied and accomplished, though it was far too soon, she looked over at the form in green, who craned their head slightly and gave her the smallest of nods. Bella sighed with relief, feeling oddly comforted to have the consent and agreement from the younger brother of her dearest friend.

"Romana," the aforementioned paused in the midst of her ranting to send what Antonio would assume to be a peeved glare at him. Ignoring her obvious annoyance, Antonio strode up to her with determination evident in his suddenly serious face and simply looked at her in silence, deaf to the loud bustling of Rome, blind to everything save for _Romana _and the features that were concealed from him. "Romana," he repeated, and, to his own surprise, lifted her chin, holding it between his thumb and index finger. "I would most certainly _love_ to witness this so-called _alluring_ smile of yours." He practically purred, and he found he had been slowly leaning forward, for he was certain she could feel his breath by her unrepressed shudder and slight twitch of her lips. His free hand rose to the bonnet, his index finger tracing the outside of it before he began to raise it…

"You…"

Antonio paused, his eyes flickering to the visibly heated cheeks with a sense of pride. "Hm?"

"You… _fucking..." _Antonio's eyes widened in alarm and, had _Romana's_ face not been concealed, he would have seen the fire igniting in unforgiving hazel irises. _"__**MOLESTER!"**_

**But it failed and he got knocked down right to the floor**

The back of Antonio's head slammed into the granite from the force of the hit delivered to him by _Romana's _all-too-willing fist. There were overlapping voices and blurs of color, but all he cared for was the already familiar screeching.

As his vision swam, he was hit with the realization that he was rejected – _denied: _what he had once thought to be impossible had occurred, and he was not quite sure how to feel about that simple, undeniable fact.

**He's never had this happen before**

Nearly every woman Antonio would so much as greet would flirt with him – be it innocently or persistently – or, at the least, swoon when they would hear his Spanish accent or catch sight of his jovial grin. He never worried over blood, for there were available and willing women at every corner. Yet, this mere _girl, _not yet an adult, resisted his charm. Antonio, though he had never been in such a situation, knew that he could not push himself onto her, no matter just how much control was slipping through his fingers; forcing a young woman to allow him to bed her was not an option, and so, he reluctantly decided at that moment to not pursue her.

His chest had never before ached to such an extent.

**"Ahh… I want blood."**

* * *

><p>Two hours had passed, and yet, even as the small hand was rapidly approaching the twelve, Antonio could not forget the screeching, the low mutter, the cheeks that were so flushed the blush could be seen at night, the curses that spewed from aristocratic lips and a masculine voice. <em>Romana <em>had run off the moment she had seen Antonio getting to his unsteady feet, and had managed to snag Venezia's wrist as she did so, leaving Antonio without an excuse to see the older sister again. Perhaps it was for the better; he _had_ decided to not pursue her… and yet… Antonio sighed, tossed his head back and downed half the contents of the bottle of _Corvina_.

"Antoine…?" Francis reached out a gentle hand to once more liberate his Spanish friend from the risk of becoming a mindless drunk before he was shot a warning glare, thus he directed his hand from the bottle to the nearest shoulder. "You have just been sitting there, drinking with a heartbroken face for the better part of an hour." The Frenchman sat down on the grass. "What ails you, _mon ami?"_

When Antonio refused to answer and decided to instead gulp the rest of the bitter wine, even Gilbert was worried, when in any circumstance time he would have been proud, and he, too, sat down next to his distressed friend.

Licking his lips slowly with an absent look in his eyes, Antonio sighed and threw the empty bottle in a random direction as he buried his head in his hands with a mournful groan. The other two spared one another a quick glance before turning to fret over their friend who uncharacteristically ignored them both.

Gilbert's ears twitched, having heard the music, faint from where they sat, purposefully distanced from the plaza, and he grinned at his clever epiphany. "'Toni, there is music playing! Do you not want to go dance?"

When Antonio looked up at him, eyes bright, Gilbert felt his ego inflate with pride that he had actually been capable of consoling someone, an act Elizabeta had declared was impossible for him to accomplish. Ha! Gilbert had no doubt that the sudden appearance of his compassionate side was but a mere step closer to possessing the Hungarian's heart.

Antonio stood up hurriedly and nearly ran to where the violins sang together in perfect synchronization, and Gilbert gave Francis a victorious smirk as he followed after the Spaniard.

**Dancing in the night**

Antonio sat atop the edge of the fountain once more, elbows pressing into his knees to cup his chin as he leaned forward, eyes frantically searching the dancing crowd for a simple red dress and matching bonnet.

"Are you not going to dance, 'Toni?"

Antonio spared his strangely eager friend a glimpse before shaking his head quickly and resumed his search.

Gilbert's brow twitched at how inappreciative his friend was the sole time _he_, Gilbert, bothered to care for another's state.

"Antoine," Francis interjected before Gilbert could rant about having his concern brushed off. "May I ask what you are looking for?"

"A girl with a common red dress and apron with a matching bonnet shielding the upper portion of her face." Antonio said tersely, so as to avoid answering more questions.

**He gives the people fright**

"'Toni!" Gilbert's face was too close to Antonio's, the former gripping the latter's shoulders with a strange intensity. "What do you know of this girl! Describe her features to me!"

"I-I could not see her face…" Antonio stuttered in surprise at his friend's reaction, and he could feel the once delicate hold Francis had on his arm seizing the appendage.

"What is her name?" Francis demanded and Antonio, in his haste, nearly spat out "Romana!"

Instantly, the grips had lessened and Antonio's friends had visibly relaxed, much to the Spaniard's confusion. Rather than question his friends, he shook his head and opened his mouth to request for their assistance in looking for _Romana_, but was interrupted by an embarrassing groan from his stomach.

**Ahh, the Lord of Darkness hungers for blood**

Antonio wrapped his arms around his midsection with a pitiful whimper, disregarding Gilbert's boisterous laughter and Francis' sigh.

"Ah, _mon ami_, I was certain you had received your fill when you left earlier, but it seems when you returned to drink more wine it brought your appetite back."

"I did not have any blood today."

_"__Quoi!_ You did not drink blood when you left, hungry enough at that point, then return to drinking alcohol when it would only serve to increase your hunger! _Mon cher_, how starved you must be!"

"_Kesesesese!_ It seems, Francis, with 'Toni so handicapped, the two of us have no choice but to find him a woman to feast on!" Gilbert glanced at his friends with an all-too eager grin. "You were looking for a girl by the name of Romana? Would you like for us to bring her to you?"

Antonio's head snapped up, eyes wide, frantic, and betraying his desire and fright. _"¡Déjala! ¡No le traigan aquí!"_

Gilbert turned to Francis, slowly, with a blank expression. The Frenchman sighed and translated. "'Leave her alone. Do not bring her here.'"

"Oh!" Comprehension dawned on Gilbert's face. "If you insist, 'Toni, we will bring you another." The silver-haired nobleman stood and gave his friend a leer. "Francis and I will bring you a woman well enough in bed to have you forget your _Romana._"

Francis sighed and gave his famished friend a sympathetic pat on the head and a gentle smile before hurrying to catch up with Gilbert. The Spaniard sighed and forced himself to sit up straight, his lips upturned at his friends' worry for him.

_"Signore!"_

Antonio's body tensed at the familiar call and he pursed his lips in a refusal to reply, as if he would be left alone if he did not acknowledge the shout.

_"Signore Antonio~!"_

Antonio's face then began to pale at the sound of a familiar girl cooing.

Still, he did not respond, desperately hoping neither of the voices belonged to who he thought they did, but found himself unable to deny the horrifying truth when a small hand tugged on the back of his shirt. He turned his head and saw that, standing on what little space was left behind him on the edge of the fountain were two children, a boy and a girl, both wearing matching ebony clothing and mischievous smirks.

**Little bats gather around him**

"Get away from the fountain, you two!" Antonio said worriedly, and would have moved had two pairs of hands not been clinging to the back of his shirt.

"Who is _Romana~?"_ the two asked simultaneously, and the Spaniard found himself wondering yet again how they were not related.

"None of your concern." Antonio bit out. "If you two do not let go of me, you will fall when I stand."

"On the contrary, _Signore_." The tanned boy began, taking a tiny step forward.

"… we will fall if you _do not_ stand." The much darker girl finished, imitating her friend's action and both children tightened their grip and leaned back slightly in unrealistic synchronization.

_"¡Merde!" _Antonio reached behind and made certain to have a steady grip on at least one of each of either's arm before getting to his feet and kneeling to let them down.

"Oh, _Signore, _you do so enjoy ruining our fun!" the _morena _pouted with a sickingly sweet voice that made Antonio internally shudder.

"You did not answer our question, _Signore!"_

"Oh, yes, do tell us who your _Romana_ is!"

"Now, children-"

"Tell us, _Signore__!"_

_"Tell us!"_

_ "Maria Cristina Lavanta Vivas! _What have I told you about pulling my hair!"

"Do not call me Maria! I am to be addressed as _Ma. Cristina!"_

"We are not in the Philippines." Antonio reminded with an exasperated tone as he pat the girl's head absentmindedly. "Girls do not abbreviate their names here."

_"Signore,_ I still wish to know!"

"And you, Fernando, do not encourage her further."

_"Antonio!"_

_ "¡Ay, Maria! ¡Pelo, el pelo!"_

**Bringing him despair**

"I do not understand, _Signore_. If you cannot stop thinking about her, then do you not love her?"

"No, I do not love her, I merely... want her."

"Want… to love her…?"

"_No. _I will only want her for today, never again."

"Then… why do you miss her so?"

"I do not miss her, I crave her."

"Do you… crave her presence…?"

"No, Fernando, I crave _her."_

"How… is that possible…?

"Well, you see… ah, you are too young to learn about such things regardless…"

"Then why do you bother to mention them!"

**They weren't really helping him**

"Antonio, what did you say she looked like again…?"

Antonio looked over at Maria Cristina, who had been silent throughout the Spaniard's speech. "She wore a red dress and a matching bonnet. Why do you ask?"

"Would you describe her personality once more, if you please?"

"_Este… _irate, I suppose. She would become angry very quickly, and was protective of her sister… but why do you ask…?"

"… Ah! Ma. Cristina, you do not suppose…?"

"Could it be the oldest of the Italian princesses…?"

_"¿Qué? _Romana, an Italian princess…?"

"Romana!" the two children repeated disbelievingly.

"So she is not…?"

"Do you not know the princesses' names?"

"No… I know naught of them save that they are the twin granddaughters of Romulus Vargas, a close friend to the first King of Unified Italy…"

_"Granddaughters!"_ Fernando and Maria Cristina repeated just as incredulously as before.

"They are princesses, yes? Or are they princes…?"

"They-they are princesses…" Fernando stuttered while Maria Cristina pressed her palm to her forehead.

"Well, what are their names…?"

The children shared a look before the Mexican boy answered once more. "The oldest 'princess' is Lovino, the younger is Feliciano."

Antonio paused, taking a second to let the information sink in and wonder why the names were so familiar before vaguely recalling a one-sided conversation with Francis before the latter had pointed out Bella… _"¿¡Qué!"_

**Because they didn't really care**

* * *

><p><strong>The perfect woman that was set inside his eyes<strong>

"Francis, tell me of the princesses of Rome."

_"__Quoi? _You live here, Antoine, I would expect you to know all you would want from how much this city is known for talking."

"Well, you have known them for so long, I was wondering of them in a more… personal level."

Francis lay, spread out on Antonio's couch with a forearm resting over his closed eyes, his free hand gesturing this way and that. "Well, regarding Feliciano, you get just what you see: a naïve, consistently happy and weak boy in women's clothing."

"What of the other…? Lovino, I believe?"

**Is a princess whom is suited to walk in the light**

Francis' hand waved the innocent inquiry away; a man happy as often as Antonio would most likely not wish to know of a person temperamental as Lovino. "You would have no interest in him, so do not fret. Here, sit," the hand gestured to the carpet next to the couch. "I will tell you of Feliciano. You see, he may need constant reassurance, but he has such a _wonderful_ smile…"

**She was known to have upon her face a pretty smile**

Antonio lay on his back on the soft grass, looking up at the sky in dazed boredom. He sighed and sat up, rubbing the back of his head gently, and moved to stand before he heard the voices, the first he had heard in several hours.

"Are you deaf? I clearly remember repeating that, had I not worn commoner clothing, there would be rumors of _she and I_."

"Would it not be more bearable than those of you and my brother?"

Antonio's brows furrowed as he lowered himself and rolled onto his stomach. The second voice was so familiar. He had heard it somewhere before, he was _certain._

"No, it would _not_, you dunce! She does not deserve to have the country crafting stories of an imaginary affair between us only to spread them as if they were true!" There was a loud huff before, softer, "It is a terrible experience I would not want her to suffer through. I am only relieved she and Feli do not have to learn that as I have."

"I understand, Lovino."

**Let us meet tonight and see if it's really worthwhile**

_Lovino?_ Was that not the name of the older princess, the one who Francis refused to reveal any information of? Antonio squinted, and was barely able to see a figure in green male clothing and another in a lavish dress of pinks and red, a more exquisite bonnet upon his head than _Romana_ had the night before-

No. Antonio shook his head, reminding himself that he had only been thirsty when he had seen _Romana_, and because he had been denied what he craved, which had never before occurred, he wanted her still only to sate the curiosity of how she would taste, skin, blood, sweat, _all._

"I…" Antonio pushed the thoughts concerning _Romana_ aside and returned his attention to the conversation. "I feel as if I… a-am I selfish, Ludwig?"

_Ludwig!_ No wonder the deeper voice was so familiar; it was Gilbert's younger brother! Though Antonio had met the German nobleman only twice, he distinctly remembered how stoic and consistently serious the other was, and found that Ludwig would have a conversation with Lovino odd. Did Francis not say that it was Feliciano who would spend all his time around Ludwig, and that Lovino absolutely despised him?

"If you were selfish, would you express worry for your brother? Bella? The man you assaulted last night?"

"He was about to _rape me!"_

Antonio's brows shot up. Who would be foolish enough to attempt to rape a noble?

"You make the same claim with Francis every day he is here."

"_That_ is different and you well know it! That fucker has _been_ in my chambers more times than I could hope to count!"

"So the guards posted by your chamber doors…?"

"Yes, they are in case Francis decides to pay my chambers yet another visit."

"Ah. Clever."

_"Grazie."_

Antonio's mind was reeling, trying to find reasoning in Francis' reluctance to talk of Lovino when the Frenchman himself supposedly was interested in the Italian. While half of his mind went from possibility to possibility, looking for a reasoning behind Francis' behavior, the other half was thinking of how lovely the Italian's voice was.

* * *

><p><strong>As I saw her gazing at the moon with much restraint<strong>

Antonio's chin rested on his forearms, his forearms resting on the sill of his glassless window. Had Antonio possessed the sight of an average human, he would not have seen the dark brown hair, the gown of pinks and reds, the skin that appeared a perfect ivory in the light of the full moon. Antonio was even able to see the flecks of green in brown eyes, creating an alluring hazel. There was a stray curl on the right side of the otherwise straight hair. This was Lovino; he was… the most beautiful person Antonio had ever before seen.

**I thought to myself that she looked just like a saint**

The pursed lips and fierce scowl that had been present when Antonio first saw the figure were now gone, showing, instead, a sorrowful, perhaps even a heartbroken, expression. Antonio could see Lovino blinking rapidly, presumably keeping tears at bay. For what reason would Lovino have for crying, Antonio wondered. From what he had heard earlier, _Ludwig_ had reassured Lovino (Antonio took a moment to question his sudden animosity towards the German before deciding it was not important enough to worry over), but the Italian kept his gaze trained upon the moon.

Francis had before claimed that Feliciano smiling in the light of the early morning was one of the most glorious sights to see, but standing at his window at midnight and feeling his eyes soften at the sight of Lovino made him second guess Francis' appreciation for beauty. Antonio could only imagine how Lovino would look in the sunlight (for he was still deathly afraid of it…), but he was certain Lovino would always remain beautiful. What was significant about the moon, though, that would bring to Lovino such sorrow? Embraced in darkness, save for the beam of the moon's light he stood in, Lovino looked completely orthodox.

And, suddenly, Antonio came to an epiphany. He was well aware that, while many knew those of his kind existed, there were twice as many who believed his people to be no more than myth, monsters crafted by imagination. He had heard, several times before, at night when a family would be out for a walk and hurrying home, the mother telling her children, "We must be home soon, now. If not, _il Signore delle Tenebre _will drink your blood!"

_Signore delle Tenebre. _Lord of Darkness. Perhaps a month or two after he had begun living in Rome, when Antonio first heard how he was known by the common folk of Italy, he embraced the title. So maybe, just maybe, Lovino standing out at night and looking at the moon with such melancholy… did he, too, wish to belong to the world of darkness in which Antonio lived?

**She must be grieving for our love that cannot be**

Antonio beamed, fully believing his theory for no longer than a minute before his face was covered with mournful tears. Oh, if only life were that simple! Never in his life had he been graced with such luck, it would be foolish to believe it would suddenly change for the better.

"**OH! God how much more sadistic can I possibly be?"**

Antonio determinedly shook his head and hurriedly exited his domain in an abandoned ruin, climbing the stone walls to the top. His neck had begun to feel sore from craning it to look up out at Lovino's balcony for so long, but from the roof he would be provided a better angle to see the Italian princess without causing his neck to ache so much. He leaned over the edge, able to see the features presented even clearer than before. Antonio's body tensed when Lovino suddenly took a few steps forward to lean his forearms against the railing, heaving a breathy sigh that made Antonio feel faint. The Spaniard had let out, even for him, a barely audible "Ah~!" when Lovino's body became visibly rigid and he looked up and over at Antonio, making one-sided eye contact with a somehow simultaneous shocked and hostile expression that faded away for suspicion, then confusion before, finally, carelessness that was clearly shown by his shrug and slow headshake.

Antonio let out a long breath. Though Lovino could not see him, the younger had still managed to look him in the eye, and for those few seconds, Antonio had contemplated making his way to Lovino and taking the boy then and there.

**Feeling weak he was dizzy and fell to his knees**

Antonio gripped the stone in front of him as he slid to his knees, eyes still pinned on the cross-dressing Italian. Lovino remained stationary for no more than five minutes before casting a wary glance to where the Spaniard hid before carefully holding up the front of his gown and entering his chambers. As he did so, Antonio bit down on his knuckle, a grin on his lips, inwardly cooing at how absolutely _adorable_ Lovino looked, acting as if he were a proper lady. Francis and Gilbert had managed to lure him out of his domain for an hour, two at most, earlier that evening, but Antonio, still kneeling, decided that missing Lovino standing in the moonlight was most certainly not an option.

**So he had to cancel all his plans and evil schemes**

Antonio would much, _much_ rather miss out on his nighttime escapades with Francis and Gilbert.

**And while he was walking he saw something real unique**

Smiling at his decision, he turned to return to his abode, only to halt halfway when a colorful poster caught his eye. Narrowing his eyes ever-so-slightly, his vision zeroed in on the object, taking in the picture of a person with short, curly brown hair, closed eyes that had a slight crinkle, a large grin surrounded by almost invisible laugh lines on light tanned skin, a hand over the mouth, covering only half the enthusiastic smile. Around the picture were, what Antonio would assume to be, warnings, such as "rapist", "molester" and "pedophile", in penmanship that could have been considered elegant, had the letters looked a bit less rigid, and a tad curvier. Most visible, though, were the bold and underlined words at the bottom, capitalized to emphasize the significance all the more.

_"__Attenzione a tutti: Questo scherzo psicotici"_

**Beware to all: This psychotic freak**

Antonio's lips quivered before he chuckled, eyes closed and holding his hand up to his mouth as if to smother the sound as he did so. His body was trembling, and through his laughter he was only able to mutter a single sentence:

**"Haha. He has a weird face."**

* * *

><p><strong>Dancing in the night<strong>

Antonio spun gracefully, the thumb of his hand at his partner's hip, stroking the side unconsciously, his other hand keeping a ginger hold on that of the terrifyingly pale figure in a deep green gown. Though Antonio had a tender smile on his face, and most would have expected the same to be said of one's lover, he merely saw a face with no expression, save for the ghost of a smirk only he could detect.

After all, Lovino severely disliked smiling in the presence of another, no matter the circumstances.

**He brings the people fright**

Walking through the streets of Rome in the early evening, just after sundown, Antonio stared ahead dazedly, still in a good mood from the dream he had awoken from. So distracted was he, Antonio was blissfully unaware of Francis and Gilbert removing posters similar to the one he had seen the night before, just as he did not notice a majority of the men he passed shouting obscenities at him, young girls shying away from him, taking cover behind a brother or father, women shielding their children from their view.

**Ahh, the Lord of Darkness now is in love**

"Francis…"

_"Oui?"_

"Would you and-"Antonio glanced nervously at Gilbert, who was drinking yet another bottle of wine, before looking back to the curious Frenchman shyly. "Would you… tell me of Lovino?"

"Ah, _mon ami,"_ Francis waved a hand uncaringly, "It is not he you should be inquiring of. Really, Feliciano-"

The blonde man looked over at the Spaniard, taking in the furrowed brows and tight line of his lips. With a sigh, he sat next to his friend on the worn couch. "However, Antoine, if you truly insist…"

Francis returned his friend's smile and began his long-winded monologue.

Antonio paid more attention to Francis' speech than ever before, and Francis noticed.

**Though his hair shined really bright under the moonlight's glow…**

The second night Antonio watched Lovino stand at the balcony, he had brought with him a basket of tomatoes and savored the juicy red fruit as well as every detail of Lovino presented, for his eyes and his alone, loving just how well the deep brown gown complimented the young boy. His eyes never left the other's, and when Lovino returned to his chambers, Antonio continued to stare at the spot for hours longer. He continued to watch Lovino, in his mind, and thought back to the wonderful, wonderful dark tresses, and how they just _shined_ like a beacon of light. Antonio himself had been complimented on his own hair, by Francis of all people, but did not think it to be as breathtaking as Lovino's.

Antonio remained on the rooftop for hours and hours, and while he did not, for the longest time, notice the sky had become lighter, he did eventually realize that dawn was approaching, and, before the sun could rise, he managed to return to his abode and close all the curtains before flopping into his coffin for a well-deserved rest.

**Once the sun came up to shine it was so meaningless to show**

* * *

><p>Lovino sat in his chair, attempting, vainly, to shut out his grandfather's words, shut them out and return to living his life, ignorant of Romulus' supposed health problem.<p>

"I really do not wish to force you into this, Lovino, but… you are old enough to marry, and I would like to live to see that day…"

"Negativity does not suit you."

"Lovino… the doctors all agree I have five years at best, I would like to say my oldest grandson wed before I die."

"Why me and not Feli?"

"Lovino-"

"Because you _know_ he will wed and you are worried I will not."

Romulus' open mouth, prepared to talk over his grandson, remained agape, his eyes wide at Lovino's flat tone and acceptance. However, he was determined to go through with this conversation and ignored the comment.

"Why would I worry over your future when you have willing potential suitors? Francis, Gilbert-"

_"Nonno!" _Lovino yelled, effectively cutting his grandfather off. "Francis… Much as I hate that fucker, I understand why you would mention him… _Gilbert_, however…" Lovino pinned his father with a malicious glare. "I had thought even _you_ were not so oblivious."

"Ah, I see." Romulus grinned triumphantly, his eyes glowing. "So it is the younger brother you fancy? Ludwig, is it?"

"Wha-what the fuck!" Lovino looked, if possible, angrier than before. _"Idiota!_ What would make you come to such an impossible conclusion!"

"I… saw you two leaving just last night…"

"Che." Lovino smoothed out his gown, to keep his hands busy. "Of course you would misinterpret that. Did you not see your other son walking ahead of us? And can you truly not see that it is Feliciano and Ludwig whom love one another?"

"… What! Feli! In love! For how long!"

Lovino breathed out through his teeth and smacked his face with his palm. Really, why was his family so oblivious only to the most obvious facts of life?

* * *

><p>That night, the third since Ludwig and the bastards' arrival, after Feliciano had declared he would go to bed rather early, Lovino once again took Ludwig's offer on a late-night stroll. The day had been stressful for Lovino, and he felt he deserved to yell about his problems to a reluctantly willing ear. He had been pleasantly surprised to find that, for all his talk of incapability to console, Ludwig had no trouble with calming Lovino, which meant he would have no trouble with calming Feliciano.<p>

"A good trait in a suitor for Feli." Lovino had said matter-of-factly, when both nobles had passed the city gardens in which he had imagined to have heard a rustle. Lovino was amused when Ludwig turned his head in refusal to answer; the Italian heaved a large sigh, his mood significantly better than just hours before.

That same night, he walked out of his chambers and to the balcony sometime around the twenty-third hour, and, for some unknown reason, felt his eyes burn with unshed tears. He had been out, enjoying the night air when he thought he heard a noise, and looked over in the direction of the abandoned ruin, not sure whether he had imagined the sound to be there or his dislike for the discarded building had been the cause to look over. He shook his head when he saw nothing, but could not help but cast a wary glance over before returning to his chambers.

He had felt as if he were watched that night, as well as the four nights following.

On the sixth day of Ludwig and the bastards' arrival, Elizabeta had sent word that she and Roderich would arrive in three days, two before the princesses' shared birthday, and so they did. While Feliciano had missed the couple dearly, Lovino was relieved the attention focused on him would transfer to the woman who caught Gilbert's eye and the man she would marry.

"And what of Bella?"

"Hm?" Lovino looked up at the Hungarian Lady of nineteen years, just three years older than he and his brother. "How does she relate to what I spoke to you of?"

"Well, you mentioned your father naming possible suitors… and you told me, two years ago, I believe, that it had only been Feliciano your parents had intended to take on the role of a woman."

Lovino shook his head. "Bella is far too much of an older sister for me to consider her otherwise. Though… she has talked of a 'dear friend of hers' she believed could be a potential suitor for me for a year or two now…"

"Oh? Have you met him?"

"I would think not… however, a week ago, she had introduced me to a 'dear friend of hers'."

"That does not have to mean anything…"

"She _emphasized_ it when she introduced him to Feli and I."

"_Oh._"

"I was also in the guise of a commoner, and she called me 'Romana'."

Elizabeta turned to the Italian, brows raised. "I do not think she would introduce you as a young woman, especially with a different pseudo name you are not familiar with, if the man was interested in courting you… would you describe him to me?"

"He had short, curly brown hair… he appeared to like anything 'cute'… smiled a lot… too much, really, and… he had green eyes."

"Would this happen to be the man on the posters I've seen all around Rome this morning?" Elizabeta cut in, amusement bubbling under the surface of her politely interested tone, given away only by the twitching of her lips. Lovino, though, was ignorant and nodded with a proud smirk.

"I made those posters myself and ordered they be posted on every building."

"I see." Elizabeta's entire form was shaking now, and she quickly excused herself, barely managing to hold her laughter until she was a safe distance away.

Lovino did not realize it was not until he mentioned Antonio'seye color did Elizabeta make the connection to the poster, when Lovino had drawn the Spaniard with closed eyes.

* * *

><p>The night of his and Feli's shared sixteenth birthday, the eleventh day of Ludwig and the bastards' arrival, Lovino managed to sneak out of the ballroom and retreat to his chambers, a bottle of his favorite wine, <em>Nero d'Avole, <em>in one hand, the handle of a basket with what was left of the tomatoes bought just the day before clutched in the other. Though his birthday was celebrated among other high-class nobles, and even King Vittorio Emanuele II had come, he did not think he was required to be present every minute throughout the ball held in his and Feliciano's honor. He was not _really_ a 'princess' nor was he a 'prince', though it was a title passed down his family since the early 1800's. Thus, Lovino liked to think he was not required to stay longer than a polite amount of time around all those _people_.

Well, with 'all those _people_', there was no doubt Francis would spend the night with a pretty lady rather than attempt to sneak into his chambers once more, so there were no guards posted at his door. A mistake on his part, he would later realize, if he so chose to see it that way.

Lovino sighed as he changed into a nightgown, too lazy to call for a servant to do so for him, and settled into his large bed. The wicker basket was on the floor, empty, and the bottle of wine lay cradled in Lovino's arms, also empty, when the Italian had drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

><p>Since that night Antonio had first seen Lovino, the former had inquired all he could think of regarding the latter to Francis, who only became more baffled, but answered nonetheless; and what Francis did not know, Gilbert did, sans one question.<p>

_Describe to me, Lovino's face when he is happy, when he smiles?_

Gilbert had looked at him in shock before laughing and dubiously asked, perhaps to Francis, perhaps to himself, "_Can_ he smile?"

Antonio's slight frown only grew when Francis had _"Ohonhon~!"_ 'd and _purred_, "I may have yet to see his smile, but one must be pleasured to be happy, yes? If I play my cards correctly, I may be able to… _invite _him to my chambers, if you will, tonight, and I will be more than capable of answering your question tomorrow morning, dear Antoine."

"Francis… do you… _love_… Lovino…?"

Gilbert had cackled, while Francis shook his head slowly, in response and amusement.

"No, Antoine, I do not."

"May I ask, then, why you and Gilbert compete over Lovino…?"

Gilbert shrugged. "It provides entertainment for me."

"As for me…" Francis' face took on his signature lustful expression, "I imagine Lovino would be wonderful in bed; I _do_ so enjoy a challenge."

"Ah. I see… _pero,_ Francis?"

"Hmmm~?"

"Would you be so kind as to do me a favor?"

"Of course. What is it, _mon ami?"_

"Not a very hard task, really, just…" Antonio's eyes narrowed, his eyes suddenly darker with dangerous intent. "Do not _touch_ a single _hair_ on Lovino's body." He spat with an uncharacteristic ferocity that caused Francis to jump and even Gilbert to flinch, both equally clueless as to how their friend had changed in a mere week.

_"… Oui._ If you so wish, _mon cher_ Antoine."

* * *

><p><strong>Tonight's the night when I will go to claim my love<strong>

Antonio took yet another deep breath. He had already decided, hours earlier, that he had no choice but to protect Lovino's dignity. Antonio may not have known Francis for very long, but they had been acquainted long enough for him to know the Frenchman might find going against the Spaniard's favor – _demand,_ really – to be particularly amusing. How horrible, _degrading_, it would be for Lovino to lose his virginity to a man who could not care less, may even close his eyes and imagine another, rather than to spend the night with a man who truly appreciated him… As the man whose heart remained captive in Lovino's fragile and unknowing hold, Antonio deducted only he could possibly be deserving of laying with the Italian.

**I've got everything I need, no to use those drugs**

Antonio tossed his head back, and tossed the bottle of _Nero d'Avole_ in a random direction, ignoring the shatter of glass as he crawled out of his window and up the stone bricks. He had initially taken a few sips to calm his nerves, but eventually decided he may as well fuel the ravenous desire that had been accumulating for the past week. He would, without doubt, be fully sated after his night with Lovino.

And, maybe, just maybe, if Francis' words rang true (as they so often did, disturbingly enough), he might get to see Lovino happy, Lovino _smile._

**He could transform into mist and fly up in the sky**

There was a sort of freedom, a lack of restraint, when he would become naught but a thin veil of fog, hardly noticeable in the night air. With the promise of Lovino's body before him, Antonio felt as if he was soaring higher and higher, as if he was approaching Heaven.

**Don't you ever look down on this pretty looking guy**

Antonio smiled smugly as his feet landed smoothly atop the rail without a stumble, the small upturn of lips expanding into a leer, and he stepped down to the balcony and entered Lovino's chambers with no small hint of anticipation.

**In her bed I saw her sleeping oh so beautifully**

Antonio silently shut the balcony doors behind him and stepped closer to the lavish bed with trembling footsteps. He bit his knuckle, resisting yet again the urge to coo at how absolutely _innocent_ the Italian appeared.

**I could barely stop the feelings overcoming me**

The Spaniard lowered a knee upon the mattress, followed by another, and crawled until he hovered above the younger's slumbering body. His hands, shaking, clutched at the satin sheets as he settled his weight on his legs, a mere inch or two above Lovino's.

**"Princess I have come for you, so take me by the hand**

He tenderly pried a pale hand from an empty bottle of wine (he proudly noted it to be the same kind he had finished not an hour ago) and brought it to his lips, kissing it lovingly.

**"Now, let me see your face so I can take a quickened glance"**

His free hand sought a delightfully soft cheek as the being beneath him stirred, head nuzzling the pillow before acknowledging the foreign touch with a start.

**She awoke, opening her eyes to take a peek**

Long, thick lashes fluttered as hazel eyes slowly forced themselves open, blinking slowly to adjust to the lack of light, the sole guide a beam of moonlight focused conveniently on the intruder, and the previously serene expression melted into that of severe irritation.

**He was overwhelmed by fear from what his eyes had seen**

Antonio watched the scowl form in curiosity, never having before seen the noble angry. Odd, the foreboding chill in response to what Antonio could have sworn was a frown he had before seen.

**Why does this girl seem so familiar to him again?**

Lovino sat up, Antonio still above his legs, and reached up to caress the Spaniard's cheek, fingers absentmindedly wandering up to briefly comb through brown curls. When a corner of the Italian's mouth twitched, Antonio's eyes widened with a sudden recognition. How could he have not noticed how similar Lovino's voice was to the "young woman" he had met a week before?

**She's the one who stole my precious fang**

_"You… __**fucking… MOLESTER!"**_

**Beaten up at night, she started up a fight**

Every empty bottle, every ornament, every high-heeled shoe, every seat cushion, every woven basket within the chambers became a weapon for Lovino's self-defense in the battle to protect his virginity. Antonio did not bother to avert the oncoming attacks, still in shock after discovering Romana's true identity. It was not until he found himself with his back upon the floor, Lovino standing over him with a look in his eye that promised pain, did the Spaniard become aware of just how serious the situation was.

**Ahh, the Lord of Darkness, scared for his life**

Antonio no longer wondered why Francis and Gilbert insisted Lovino to be a deadly force to not be reckoned with. Though he could not deny that the sight of Lovino in a thin nightgown with a dark expression did not excite him… it also frightened him terribly.

**He was knocked out by the girl without a chance to rape**

Without warning, Antonio found himself on his stomach, Lovino sitting on his back and bashing the back of his head repeatedly with a round basket smelling suspiciously of tomatoes. Lovino's strength was astonishing, and Antonio was certain that a lesser man would have died. It was such a shame he would not get to bed the Italian after all…

**And he was tied up by the girl with no hopes for escape**

* * *

><p>Lovino reentered his chambers, slamming the door behind him and finding a sort of evil pleasure in Antonio's resulting jolt. Feliciano, who had been searching for his dear <em>fratello<em>, had heard the commotion from the other end of the hall and found Lovino tying Antonio with rope that had quite literally appeared from nowhere. After the younger brother had cheerfully greeted the Spaniard (much to the older brother's annoyance), Lovino ordered the former to return to the ballroom at once and warn their grandfather of the rapist in the House of Savoy ("You always say that of Francis, Lovi, Ve." "I was speaking of Antonio!"). With a drawn out sigh, Lovino seated himself once more on Antonio's back and placed his hands atop brown curls, chin resting upon laced fingers.

"Perhaps now you bastards will _finally_ stop chasing after Feli." The noble grumbled irritably. Antonio blinked.

"… How is your brother involved in this…?"

"You broke in to rape him, you shithead!"

"Ahaha~ Silly Lovino, I would not have raped Feliciano!"

"I doubt he would have willingly let you touch him!"

"Why would I touch Feliciano when it is you I want?"

Lovino stared hard at the head beneath him as his body trembled and his face grew warm, whether from embarrassment or rage he was not yet certain. "Flattery will get you nowhere, I'll have you know, so there is no sense in keeping the façade."

"Your brother, before he left, addressed you as 'Lovi'."

Lovino blinked at the sudden change of topic. "Yes, he did."

"When we first met, it was he who addressed you as 'Roma'."

"Is there a point you are trying to get across?"

"The irony."

Lovino waited for further explanation, and upon receiving none, settled his weight more forcefully on Antonio's back.

_"¡Ay!_ What I mean to say is, at that time, though I did not know you and I had not seen your face, I wanted nothing more than to take you. I held back then, yet here I find myself, nearly carrying out what I had refrained myself from fulfilling a mere week ago. And… I also find that… I am just as determined to see you smile."

"… You are a fool." Lovino managed to respond, removing himself from the comfortable perch and grabbing a blanket, wrapping it around his body in a protective cocoon as he sat before the captive Spaniard, both illuminated by the full moon's glare.

Despite the situation, Antonio pouted, crestfallen. "Ma~ Lovi, why did you climb off?"

The Italian noble turned his head sharply away, shoulders hunched as if to hide the darkening cheeks. "Wh-why do you think, _idiota!_ I had assumed you to be chasing after Feli and was keeping you from retreating! Why, then, would I remain seated on you, leaving myself vulnerable when…!"

"When it is you I desire?" Antonio offered helpfully after Lovino cut himself off with a shake of his head.

"Shut up! That is not what I said!"

"But it is what you meant, _verdad?"_

"Why-! You bastard!"

* * *

><p>"Feliciano?"<p>

Ludwig remained immobile, a bit transfixed but more exasperated at that instant at the sight that greeted his ascent of stairs. Feliciano lay comfortably on the surface of the scarlet carpet. His russet cloak draped over him and the matching dress, a makeshift blanket while he slept on without a care in the world. Ludwig heaved a large sigh, laden with unexpressed amusement and affection as he picked up the lightly snoring Italian and carried him to his chambers.

The German paid no mind to imagined mutters, more concerned with putting the Italian to bed, but knew his mind was not playing tricks on him when an all-too familiar indignant bellow of "YOU PRICK!" reached his ears.

Blond brows furrowed with bewilderment. Lovino had disappeared five hours prior (a whole hour after the ball had started, surely a record), should he not be as unconscious as the younger brother…? But, wait, Lovino had not developed a habit of speaking to himself, that Ludwig knew of, and who would dare enter Lovino's chambers at such a late hour, without supervision, no less…?

Pale blonde brows now just below the hairline, Ludwig shot out of Feliciano's chambers and closed the doors behind him, running to the room across the hall.

* * *

><p>"LOVINO!"<p>

"FUCK!"

Lovino jumped, his now adjusted eyes wide as they beheld Ludwig's frantic expression, face pinched with worry. The Italian pressed a hand over his rapidly beating heart as he exhaled slowly. "Ludwig…?"

"Lovino, did Francis-!"

_"¡Hola,_ Ludwig!"

The German blinked, just recognizing the strange form on the floor to be a man. "… Antonio…?"

"You know him?" Lovino asked, relieved, for if Antonio was an acquaintance of Ludwig's, then what sense would there be in doubting the former?

_"Sí. _We have met but are not particularly familiar."

"Meaning…?"

"I know him through my brother; Antonio is exceptionally close with Gilbert and Francis."

"… 'Exceptionally close with Gilbert and _Francis!'"_

At that moment, when Lovino's head turned, eerily slow, head bowed low and blocking his eyes from view, Antonio began to comprehend just what kind of consequences he would have to face for his actions.

* * *

><p><strong>Three years later…<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>Well once upon a time, I think is how it goes<strong>

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man recounted memories: of his family, his life when he had moved to another country with a strikingly similar language, the friends he had made (the cheery blonde he doted upon like a boy would his younger sister; his two dearest friends from whom he had no secrets, and vice versa; the two children that, despite annoying him constantly, he found he held a certain fondness for), and his… unrequited love.

**In a country glorified and rid of all its woes**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man clutched at the iron bars, looking out at the night sky from the space between them. The country was still as beautiful as ever, he knew, as was the sunrise he would watch from the cloak of ebony provided in his dank crypt.

**There a vampire had lived who had such stunning hair**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man brought his hands to his brown hair, his digits disentangling the untamed chestnut locks that had once been the envy of his vainest of companions.

**He who used to be the Lord of Darkness with such flair**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man smiled at how he, one who had once held himself in high regard, was known throughout all of Rome, was craved by every woman he encountered, had been lowered to such an extent as to be put in jail, and the cause of his downfall was an irate Italian noble with a fiery temper that did not return his affections.

**Got a sentence to work 3 years inside of a jail**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man carved yet another tally, the fourth of what would become an assembly of five, the next day when he would repeat the process.

**All he had for food was bread that tasted really stale**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man scrunched his nose in contempt, reluctantly swallowing a morsel of dried bread that still managed to itch the back of his throat, and immediately began drinking handful after handful of only slightly fresher water from the insufficiently small basin.

He was still thirsty.

**Those green eyes that he had were hidden from people's sight**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man kept his eyes closed, seated next to his door as the slot in the door unfolded in, the breakfast for an untallied day presented, as unappetizing as ever. With a sigh that seemed to accompany the task every morning, Antonio accepted the tray, sighing once more when the slot closed. His eyes never opened once.

He did not want anyone to see the heartbreak in his eyes.

**All he did was work alone everyday, everynight**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man, having completed his housework for the day, threw his broom, without a care as to where it would land, and heard the sound of it landing echo, almost deafening in the otherwise noiseless chamber. He flopped upon the cot he used to sleep, exhausted and his hunger reappearing once more.

**One day he suddenly got pale and really thin**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man was beginning to pale. The tan of his skin, which had remained despite the fact that he had never stood where the sun could reach him, was receding dramatically, and he could feel his stomach was thinner than it had been the month before.

**Sick of being held against his will in a prison**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man gripped at his wild curls, his previously nonexistent temper rising. He could no longer tolerate, could no longer _endure_ where he slept, ate and worked, slept, ate and worked. It had been so long since he had truly breathed fresh air…

**Moving slow, his lips were dry, he wanted to speak out**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man moved to the window, gripping the iron bars blocking his escape, and tried in vain to take in the natural nighttime air, to rid the stagnant stench that accompanied the cursed, confined room he slept in. He brought his tongue, depleted of moisture, across cracked lips.

**So he muttered what he said out loud**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man cleared his throat once, twice, five times before he spoke, voice raspy and croaked from disuse.

**"Ahh… I want some blood."**

* * *

><p><strong>Stuck inside a cell, his stamina it fell<strong>

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man toppled to the ground, fatigued from the work he had completed not long before as his hunger became more and more pronounced. He felt no pain when his face met the frigid stone; he only felt numb, and unbearably thirsty.

**Ahh, the Lord of Darkness almost gave up**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man grit his teeth as he used the nearest barrier of bricks for leverage to stand, sliding his hand across with every step to the portion marred with shallow indents. He removed a fragment of fractured rock from its snug dwelling, the surrounding cracks depthless and nearly invisible, and engraved yet another notch, a diagonal that crossed over a bundle of four, absentmindedly mouthing "two hundred nineteen" as he did so, resulting in a pause.

Five tallies per assembly. Seventy-three assemblies per year. One thousand ninety-five days in three years. Two hundred nineteen assemblies in one thousand ninety-five days.

That night would be his last in that damned cell; that fact alone was more than enough of energizing him, and when he flopped once more upon the horribly uncomfortable cot, he no longer cared of how rigid it was, and he no longer had trouble nodding off.

It was his last night, and he would need the rest.

**Left inside an empty prison, feeling really pissed**

From within the walls of a dark cell, a man came to a sudden revelation as he was just beginning to doze. He was far too weary to act upon the anger about to overcome him, but was aware he would awake remarkably cranky the next day. How could he have been so stupid as to not realize he had had the potential to escape since the first night!

**He forgot that he could willingly transform himself to mist**

* * *

><p>Lovino bit his lip and glanced once more, the eighth time within a minute, to his left, only to find that the same three men who had been standing there for the last ten minutes remained. Exhaling unevenly, he shook his head minutely at Ludwig's questioning look. To Lovino's right stood Elizabeta, to her right Bella, and to Bella's right was Leonie. He was quite tempted to tell the other three to decide amongst themselves which two would take a seat. However, while Bella was not as familiar with Feli as Elizabeta was, she had been delighted to be invited to such an occasion, by Lovino no less. Leonie, whose purpose was merely to even out the numbers, could not be suddenly ordered to sit; Lovino would hate to discover what the little girl's half-brother, the Swiss man next to Gilbert, was capable of when she was distraught. No, the girls had no choice but to remain standing… yet…<p>

Lovino's eyes flickered to his other side. Ludwig was to his left, past the considerable gap between them and a few steps more toward the eager audience. To Ludwig's left stood an equally impatient Gilbert, most likely due to his suspiciously late companion.

At the thought of the delayed Frenchman, Lovino searched the room with frantic hazel irises. Though he and the three females had showed up as promised, only half of the men to stand by Ludwig had arrived. With another glimpse to confirm the time remaining before the bell announcing the twentieth hour (just a few minutes more, for the long arrow was not slow in approaching the twelve). With Roderich at the ornate piano, fingers a breath away from filling the chapel with deliciously exquisite melodies and notes, and therefore incapable of standing in, Lovino lifted the front of his hem with a single hand, the other gripping the bouquet of cyclamen and daisies, and prepared to relocate himself beside the young Swiss man, Vash, Lovino believed him to be called.

Before the Italian could move, however, he felt a large hand upon his shoulder. "Patience, _bruder; _rushing into decisions will not hasten the arrival of our late men."

Gilbert was awarded with a puzzled look, the expression melting into that of animosity as a venomous hiss passed lips trembling with rage. "The wedding has not yet begun, but even after its end, do not ever expect me to call you _'fratello'_ you conceited shit."

Gilbert chuckled quietly, unaccepting of the bait for a fight laid out before him as he had since his marriage to Madeline, a cousin of Francis', nearly a year before. "Patience, Lovino. Francis will be here soon."

"What of the other man? The one even Ludwig will not tell me of?"

"Why, Lovino! I had no idea you were so familiar with my brother!"

When the sole response Gilbert received was a dull stare, he snickered and pat the boy –_ man's_ – shoulder and returned to the place he had chosen to stand.

Lovino, impossibly bored, began to smooth imaginary wrinkles from his flawless gown, a deep shade of green quite similar to the eyes of the thick-browed man seated near the front, whom the Italian was certain he had at least thrice heard Francis brag of the numerous sordid affairs they had shared.

With a mental shudder at the mental image, Lovino had just enough time to peer a final time at the clock when from the side entrance came two men. The first to enter was a blonde, his hair tied back in a ribbon matching the dresses of the Italian and the women standing by him, as well as the eyes that Lovino could not help but notice flickered to the Frenchman.

Nevertheless, it was not the promise of the workings of a forbidden love under his nose (for he was an Italian through and through) that caused Lovino to stand frozen, immobile, in unrestrained bewilderment.

The man hurriedly yanked into the room by the deadly clutch of Francis' hand around his wrist was familiar: he possessed the features Lovino had painted on canvas several times over the past thousand-and-ninety-five days (not that he had been keeping count!), eyes capable of a smoldering gaze Lovino could never forget, hair with a softness worthy of comparison to the pillows Lovino slept on, a scent akin to tomatoes- a secret pleasure Lovino had yet to confide to another.

_Antonio_ looked just as incredulous as Lovino was to see the other.

* * *

><p><em>"Mon ami, <em>we must hurry!"

"Francis?"

"Hurry, Antoine, there is no time to wait!"

In less than a second Francis was pushing Antonio along, who was wondering why his friend was there, just after sunset, steering him further and further away from the damned prison. By the time the Spaniard had decided it did not matter, he found himself fast approaching the House of Savoy.

With haste, Antonio dug his heels into the dirt, effectively halting Francis' pull.

"Antoine? We have little time to waste!"

_"¡Tonto!_ What do you think you are doing, bringing me here?"

"A wedding, Antoine! We are attending a wedding!"

"Francis, I cannot-"

"Do you not wish to see Lovino?"

"Lovino…?" A frightening possibility manifested in Antonio's mind, reflected in his nearly watering eyes. "Lovino… is getting married…?"

"Well?" Francis prompted, pretending he had not heard the disheartened mumble. "Do you not wish to see him after three years of imprisonment?"

"I… would not want to be in his way of happiness…"

"I did not say he was happy."

Antonio's head snapped up, but he could only see the rigid posture of Francis' body, the back of perfectly kept blonde hair. With eyes widening and darkening at the implied message, the Spaniard's face contorted into a snarl, and it was now he hauling Francis onward.

"Allow me to lead, _mon ami; _it would be a disaster for you to become lost now of all times." Francis offered, running ahead, and Antonio saw no logical reason to defy him.

* * *

><p>"Hurry, Antoine, change into these."<p>

Antonio had just followed Francis into what he assumed to be the Frenchman's guest chambers when his vision was obscured by clothing. Curiously, he removed them from his face and regarded them with a dumbfounded expression. "Francis…?"

"Do not ask questions, _mon cher, _there is no time for that." Francis replied, stripping and redressing with speed that would have impressed Antonio had it been anyone else. Resigning himself with a sigh, Antonio obediently changed into the clothes, soon after fitting into the shoes his friend set before him.

"Is there really such a need to-"

"Ah, wait!" Francis quickly fastened a blue cornflower to both their apparel and coaxed him out of the room, once more directing the younger man around the surprisingly empty building.

"Where is Lovino?" Antonio asked in a worried whisper, only to be silenced by his companion, who paused near a round-about entrance and spared the Spaniard a guilty glance, accompanied by a short sigh.

"I… did not say this was Lovino's wedding, nor did I say Lovino was unhappy."

Without time to ponder on the foreboding words, Antonio was pulled into the room, and met Lovino's eyes with his own under the numerous chandeliers.

The face he had painted over in his mind for a thousand and ninety-five days, the eyes that would ignite with a fiery rage, hair that was as perfect as the night he had first seen it, save that adorably stubborn curl, the breath that had smelled strongly of his (their?) favorite wine.

Lovino looked as incredulous as Antonio was to see the other.

As it was, though, Francis only had enough time to run to stand in his place beside a blonde man with an indifferent look upon his face and pull the Spaniard to his other side before the bells chimed. The arched doors at the other end opened ever-so-slowly to reveal Feliciano, garbed in an ethereal ivory dress, walking down the aisle with Romulus at his side, both wearing jovial grins so wide, there was no doubt their cheeks would later be sore.

While all other eyes were trained on the approaching bride, Antonio could not look away from Lovino, who, blind to the attention fixed upon him, was unable to maintain the faux careless expression and, to Antonio's pleasant surprise, smiled softly.

Antonio had never before seen a sight so worthy of endless praise.

* * *

><p>"You are nineteen today, <em>verdad?"<em>

Lovino turned his head only slightly and grunted out an affirmative before preparing to leave the ballroom, seemingly determined to rid himself of the nuisance he had acquired.

"I… I thought of you every morning before I fell asleep, every night when I awoke."

Antonio exhaled slowly, looked up at Lovino, who was now facing him with a quirked brow, and, with a wavering voice, he continued, "The night I first met you, I thought I only craved your body, yet I… I kept hearing your voice replaying… in-in my mind… and the night I first saw your face, I wanted nothing more than to… know… about you. Every question I had… of you was answered by Francis and Gilbert, but… meeting you… talking to you… before Ludwig burst through your doors, was far better than… anything I could ever imagine."

"… Flattery will get you nowhere." Lovino grumbled, pointedly looking away. Antonio frowned and moved to stand in the Italian's range of vision.

"I am not trying to flatter you, I… I only want to tell you the truth. _Por favor, Lovinito."_

When Antonio did not receive a response, he licked his lips nervously and moved to grab Lovino's hand, only to have the noble back away. _"Por favor,"_ Antonio repeated in a broken, cracked whisper.

Lovino held both of his hands to his chest protectively, eyes focusing instead near the center of the ballroom, the newlyweds accepting congratulations and blessings from familiar and awkward acquaintances alike. Who would have thought Feliciano (his innocent, naïve, happy-go-lucky Feli) would find true love in a person like (stoic, formal, critical) Ludwig? Their romance was wholly unexpected, but not questioned; there was no denying how perfect they were for one another.

Beside Ludwig stood Gilbert, no doubt giving praise, an arm upon his brother's shoulder, the fingers of the other hand entwined with that of his wife, taciturn as ever, invisible were it not for the vibrant frock she wore.

Their courtship was even less anticipated, widely presumed to be of little to no worth of mention when all was said and done, fated to end in due time. Eyebrows rose with the declarations for marriage, many believing it to be a cover for a liaison, and such presumptions lasted, through to the wedding and a month or two after. In spite of the negative opinions regarding their relationship, the two had begun to change dramatically in the public eye for the better, with Gilbert talking less and Madeline speaking more.

A doubted intimacy, a budding passion that was thought to wither, had prevailed, the adoration held for their lover never failing to shine brightly through their eyes.

Lovino's eyes migrated once more, to a dark corner where Francis and the thick-browed man stood, isolated from the celebration.

The Frenchman was attempting to talk soothingly to the other, and his eyes, for once, were not gleaming with mischief; his expression was noticeably soft as he held the other man's hands, thumbs rubbing circles over the back. Whatever he said caused the other to snatch his hands away and respond in some sort of skeptical or mocking manner. Francis, in turn, clutched the other man's hands and held them in one of his own, the other lifting the chin, lips moving slowly with purpose. The younger man, taken aback and apparently overcome with joy, judging from the abrupt smile to spread across his face, encased his arms around Francis' neck, the Frenchman holding the other by the waist.

The Italian averted his eyes from the couple locked in the passionate embrace. The two had appeared to argue often, and most likely did if Francis' claims proved true, but in the end, they seemed to be… compatible, two pieces of a puzzle that fit perfectly together. The _amour_ they shared was so genuine, so absolute despite their conflicting natures, Lovino could not help but wonder… did he and Antonio appear that way? Would Antonio look at him with such definite, unquestionable affection, as if there was no other reason for living?

Lovino met Antonio's eyes, and soon had his answer.

_"Nonno _claims that he is sick and will not live as long as he would like…"

Antonio gasped, not expecting to receive such a response. "Lovino… I am so sorry…"

"Over the past three years, however," Lovino spoke over the Spaniard, unfazed at the elder's sympathy. _"Nonno _seems to have become healthier. Not long before I became sixteen, he tried to push me into marriage, because he 'wished to see me wed before his demise'…"

Antonio blinked as Lovino trailed off, waiting patiently for the noble to finish.

"If… if worse comes to worse…" Lovino paused to nibble lightly at his bottom lip, and the Spaniard was forced to bite down on a knuckle to smother the squeal forming at the back of his throat. "I… would hate to leave a request he made to me, personally, unfulfilled… and, if what he said was true… which I doubt, but-but you can never be certain!... at most he has another two years… ample enough time to properly court before marrying… that-that is to say…"

Lovino cut himself off when he was engulfed in a strong embrace, an arm circling his waist, a hand against the back of his head, Antonio's chin resting on his shoulder. He could feel the eyes of several onlookers, but rather than snap at either of them, as he would in any other circumstance, he clutched pathetically at Antonio's attire.

"Just… just remember that this is not for your sake! I-I personally do not care, but it would be a shame for a man to not live to see his own grandson marry! So-so do not expect a heartfelt confession or anything of the sort!"

Antonio chuckled and tightened his grip on the flustered Italian. "I do not expect you to do anything for my sake." The Spaniard stopped short to press butterfly kisses against the fluttering pulse, and stroked it gingerly with his nose. "So long as we do wed… I could never ask for more from life."

* * *

><p>"Um, Lovi, I think you have had more than enough to drink, ve…"<p>

Feliciano shrunk into himself, petrified by the answering glare. Lovino, for no other reason other than to spite the younger, continued to drink the wine straight from the bottle.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaah! _Fratello,_ I-I really wish you would-"

"Feliciano," the russet-haired noble looked up at his husband, curiosity brimming in his eyes. "I think it best for you to refrain from… provoking your brother."

"Oi!" the empty bottle was quickly discarded, or rather, thrown at Ludwig's head, the glass shattering upon impact with the wall threateningly. _"I _think it best you refrain from insulting your bride!"

"L-Ludwig…" The German quickly turned his attention to the younger Italian, whose teeth were creating imprints on trembling lips, shoulders quaking with the effort to restrain a sob. "L-Ludwig, y-y-you ins-s-s-sulted-d… m-me…?"

"No, Feliciano, I-"

"Of course he would deny it! Listen only to _famiglia, _Feli;_ famiglia_ never lies."

The younger Italian immediately nodded, disregarding his husband's apologies as he sniffled once, twice, five times.

With a proud smirk, Lovino cleared his throat rather dramatically. "Your precious _Ludwig_ just _commanded_ you to cease _annoying _me! He thinks you are a bother- a nuisance! Who knows what he will demand of you next? Perhaps he will no longer allow you to _speak_ to me, _ban_ you from my presence, perhaps…" Lovino stood from his chair and walked over to his brother, his hands atop the other's shoulders, sure to look the younger in the eye. "Perhaps… he will no longer permit you to eat pasta."

"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

"Feliciano, do not listen to your brother-"

"Do you _see,_ Feli? Even at this moment, he tries to control you-!"

"I love Lovi, Ludwig! He is my _fratello_, why-?"

"Lovino is drunk-"

"Do not listen to him, Feli!"

"-if I never see Lovi again-!"

"-did not mean to insult-"

"-a liar-!"

"-and the _pasta_-!"

"-drank too much-"

"-_Famiglia, _Feli-!"

"-the _pasta,_ Ludwig!"

"-incoherent-"

"-cannot trust him-"

"I love Lovi, but _why_ the _pasta?"_

"-not sober-"

"-Oi! What is _that_ supposed to-"

_"Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Ludwig?"_

_"¿Lovinito?"_

Lovino turned, leaving the other couple to noisily resolve the conflict he created, to his husband of four years, a bored look upon his face.

Antonio frowned and looked over to the row of glass bottles upon the wooden table, drained of their essence. "Why… how many…?"

"The fuckers continued to drink long after you left for bed."

"Ah…" the Spaniard nodded, concluding both Italians to have drunk past their limit, judging from Lovino's impassive face and Feliciano's dramatic wails. "Your grandfather…?"

At that moment, a roar echoed throughout the lounging room, causing all in the room, save for Lovino, who appeared too unfazed to be coherent (Antonio idly wondered if his bride was really so drunk despite the lack of a slur, or if he was merely sleepy before deciding it was not important). The other three watched as Romulus, lying comfortably upon a couch, turned in his sleep before letting out a much softer snort.

"Asleep." Lovino answered after a long silence, following Ludwig, who was ushering a terrified Feliciano to the exit ("I thought I was going to be eaten alive! I do not want to die, Ludwig!"), with his eyes. When the other pair were out of his sight, Lovino faced his husband with a devilish leer. Coyly, he let his hands wonder to chestnut curls, his digits disentangling them.

"It has been quite a while since you last drank, Antonio~" he cooed, pressing himself against the Spaniard. "Are you not thirsty~?"

_"Ay, Lovinito,"_ Antonio sighed, removing the soft hands from his hair as he sighed. "I am tired. Is tomorrow night fine, _querido?"_

Lovino pouted, an act he would never so much as _consider_ carrying out while sober, well aware of the effect it had on his lover. "No, tomorrow is _not_ fine." He huffed (Antonio's body shook and he bit down on a scarred knuckle, the result of his repression of squeals), stomped to the table, much like a child, and walked back to Antonio with bottles of _Nero d'Avole_ (a shared weakness of theirs, as well as tomatoes) in his arms.

_"Lovi!"_ Antonio reprimanded, confiscating the alcohol disapprovingly. "You do not need to drink more, you have had enough!"

"I know~" Lovino agreed (Antonio blinked; was his bride always so compliant when drunk?) and he strut out of the lounging room, hips swaying deliberately (Antonio swallowed hard at the sight, then once more from the rapid pace of accumulating saliva) as he reached the doorway, turning his head just a bit, head cocked slightly as he awarded his husband with a flirtatious smile. "Those are for you~"

Antonio watched, hungrily, as the Italian walked out of sight, and he could hear the footsteps gain speed as Lovino ran to their shared chambers. The Spaniard licked his lips thoughtfully, considering, and walked over to the table, setting down almost every bottle, only one in hand as he ran to their chambers.

Antonio, though, doubted he would really need the alcohol to make him any thirstier after the Lovino's shameless display.

* * *

><p>Ta-da! So... if you actually read that entire thing, you deserve an applause *claps*<p>

And now that you've finished, I highly recommend you watch the YouTube video of the same name by Razzyness (way better than what I just slaved over...)

If you have any questions, comments, concerns, constructive criticism, etc., please review or send a message and I'll get back to you when I can

Ja Ne =D!


End file.
